


Vanishing Act

by FlyinIsAnArtNotAPractice



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, but i guess it might follow some tropes, depending on how i do it, i will update tags and characters as the story progresses, i write a lot but this is the first time im posting, maybe slow burn, so i kinda am free writing this, so it might still be kinda bad lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 20:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16374089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyinIsAnArtNotAPractice/pseuds/FlyinIsAnArtNotAPractice
Summary: Tim hasn’t seen or heard from Jason Todd in nearly a decade. In fact, no one has. Jason Todd, the boy wonder who died, who came back to life and vanished within three years. He would be turning 28 in a few days. But no one, not Tim, not Superman, and not even the goddamn greatest detective in the world knew where the man would be.





	1. Out on the Moor

Tim hasn’t seen or heard from Jason Todd in nearly a decade. In fact, no one has. Jason Todd, the boy wonder who died, who came back to life and vanished within three years. He would be turning 28 in a few days. But no one, not Tim, not Superman, and not even the goddamn greatest detective in the world knew where the man would be.

Tim’s days as Red Robin and leading the Titans had ended years ago. He still kept in touch of course, but mostly he ran Wayne Corporations as CEO in standing. He’d become Batman’s Robin because Batman needed a Robin. He’d led the Titans because they did too. But Batman always had another Robin. And the Titans disbanded. Vigilanting was a fun pastime for Tim now, but sleep deprivation could only go so far. If Red Robin wasn’t needed bouncing the Gotham rooftops, well, then Red Robin didn’t show up. Tim was Timothy Drake-Wayne most of the time, heading one of the world’s largest companies. Damian had resented him for that position for a solid week and a half, claiming blood son nonsense, but it hadn’t taken but one day of sticking the little demon in a suit and office before he’d surrendered the position to Tim.

“Completely monotonous, and trivial compared to my real ability. It’s yours, Drake,” were the words Tim remembered Damian hurling at him, already furious from one day of paperwork.  Tim had laughed it off and watched as Dick and Bruce both opened their mouths to begin berating Damian about the importance of Wayne Corporations.

Of course, right now Tim would be willing to give a lot for any, any of his siblings to show up. But no, Tim was stuck in the middle of the Scottish highlands, a burning plane sizzling half a mile behind him, with two semi-conscious pilots. Oh no, scratch that. One extremely conscious pilot and his overly-dramatic boyfriend who had pretended to pass out and require both CPR and mouth to mouth. And Tim was stuck as Timothy Drake-Wayne, because while yes, all communication tabloids had been blown up and left on the plane, these two still had their working vlog camera and were currently recording everything to be posted later. Tim checked his watch again. The plane was supposed to arrive in Glasgow in around ten minutes, and when the Scottish airport officials realized that the super high-tech secure plane carrying multi-billionaire Timothy Drake-Wayne had not arrived, maybe, just maybe, they would have the brains to send out a search and rescue team. Hopefully.

Tim glared around at the endless moor that stretched around him. If the rescuers were smart, they’d notice the smoking plane. The smoking plane, that, thanks to a certain Brucie Wayne’s paranoidness, didn’t have any goddamn trackers on. 

Unfortunately, a smoking plane tended to attract attention. And if these moors had as many bandits camping out as Stephanie claimed they did, then Tim was more likely than not about to become Boy Hostage again. Except this time with two overdramatic gay pilots. Speaking of which, they both had gone silent from their previous unsubtle giggles and whispers. Tim whirled around suspiciously, and found himself facing an empty plain.

“Hello?” he called, but there was no response. Great, overdramatic gay pilots had probably been exactly that. Overdramatic, running off together, and being nuisances for Tim. When he found the two he was gonna give them a piece of his mind. 

The quiet purr of an engine sounded ominously across the plains. One of the infamous bandits had arrived, it appeared. But with the two pilots gone, Tim could be what the world had needed. Tim Drake, the third Robin, and one of the most dangerous people in the world. 

Hiding his identity had become second nature in Tim’s not so monotonous life as an office worker. A scarf that doubled as a cowl, safety pins, and his trusty expandable staff, Tim basically could transform into his alter-persona within seconds. Dick had suggested a theme song for Tim to play during his “transformation sequence.” His suggestion had been vetoed.

By the time Timothy Drake-Wayne had smoothly turned into fake-Red Robin, the three black SUVs had pulled up next to the plane. 

“Do they just not see me?” Tim muttered to himself, “are they really not seeing the weirdo wearing half a suit and a scarf safety-pinned to his head?” He watched in growing confusion as three armoured people climbed out of the cars and began to circle the plane. All of a sudden, one of the people whirled and shouted something unintelligible, and Tim felt himself drop as the ground opened up below him.

  
  



	2. Under the Moor

One suspiciously lengthy fall later, Tim landed on what felt like a ball pit. The type commonly found at Chuck-E-Cheese. Angry yelling in some foreign language was the next thing he noticed. A language that was sounding more and more familiar as the feeling of being slammed into a pit of small balls faded. Tim cracked open one eye. And immediately slammed it shut again. 

Several, several nozzles were pointed at him. And no, they weren’t hose nozzles. The yelling was coming into focus again, and Tim wracked his brain as he tried to decipher the language. 

“Guid day! Bampot pay attention when fowk ur talkin' tae ye! wa th' heel ur ye in uir lain? ye dornt swatch loch a Craw sae what's th' catch? Oi answer me!”  
It sounded English. He was fairly certain that the bodies attached to the other end of the nozzles were English. He was still in the British bloody Isles, although maybe a bit below the surface. But the language, it didn’t seem like it was English at all. 

Someone else cleared his throat over the yelling. “Ahem, sir, if you would, please place your hands above your head. We’d rather not force you.” Tim blinked. The nozzles had been lowered, if only slightly. The new speaker was wearing a suit. (So was Tim. This isn’t really relevant to the plot but Tim is really gay so it is now.) Suits, Tim decided, would be his name. Tim slowly raised the arm that wasn’t holding his bo staff in a vice grip. Suits glared at him. Tim glared back. Suits glanced at Tim’s suit, since Tim’s head was still wrapped in a scarf. 

“So you aren’t a Crow, then,” Suits turned his back on him, “God bloody damnit, who were the fools upstairs? They caught a lunatic cosplaying as a ninja. Someone get me the memory wiper, dear god.” He stomped off into the room, which was more cave than room. Tim jumped up fiercely, but angry Not-English-Speaking-Englishman-Who-Is-Probably-Scottish-The-More-Tim-Thinks-About-It waved his nozzle at Tim. “Stay, you utter buffoon. I don’t think you’re just some cosplayer. We wait on the reports from the lads above. For now, you’re stuck with me.” Tim gaped. The thing could speak English? Probably Scottish (his new name) sneered at him, and with another definitely not English word barked at the other nozzles, Tim and his kidnappers/future victims settled in to wait.

Four hundred and thirty-nine thousands later, Suits came storming back into view. This time brandishing what appeared to be a briefcase of solid metal.   
“HE’S A FUCKIN BILLIONAIRE! WE CAN GET RICH BABY! GET HIM TO PAY US OFF IN RANSOM AND WE SET FOR LIFE MY PALS!” Suits shrieked. Tim gave another mental groan to join the chorus of mental groans in his head ever since the plane had gone splat. Of course, the only normal sounding and looking person in the place was also a complete idiot as well. Yes, Timothy Drake-Wayne was a billionaire. Yes, being a billionaire meant he had a lot of money. No, that didn’t mean Tim was gonna pay these assholes to ‘set him free.’ It meant Tim was gonna beat their asses into the ground, report said asses, then get his ass to Glasgow so he could maybe catch onto the tail end of the international technology conference he was due to attend in two and a half hours. Oh and find those two pilots so he could teach them how to fly a goddamn plane.

To prove Tim’s assumption, said idiots immediately clustered around Suits to crack open what was apparently a laptop encased in solid metal. “Holy mother above, the lad is loaded! Oi, it’s a Wayne?!”

“What the bloody fuck is a vain?” 

“A Wayne you dipshit, one of those rich bastards” 

“Well yes, he is rich, but what the hell does being a Wayne have to do with anything?” 

“Didn’t one of the western gangs catch a Wayne a while back?”

“The M’pies?” 

“Yea them, remember them complaining about this absolute truck of a beast that destroyed their main camp.” 

“Ayy, I remember that! They shot the bloody bastard a couple dozen times. What’d they do with the body?” 

“The shit didn’t die! Sold him somewhere and they went hella rich! They was a gang of nobodies but now the M’pies run the Western Corridor!” 

“That thing was a Wayne too? But this Wayne here looks like a stick!”

The fools kept going on about Tim’s physical failings, but he decidedly ignored it. Instead, Tim considered the bit of information they’d just dropped. The aforementioned Wayne could be any one of the dozens of fools that comprised the Wayne family. Destroying bandit holes? Getting shot repeatedly and surviving? Hell, the mystery Wayne could probably be Barbara herself and Tim wouldn’t question it too much. But calling someone an absolute truck of a beast was unique. In fact, it was an oddly specific phrase that Tim had heard many times in the past to refer to a Wayne. One specific Wayne. One specific Wayne, who had died once before and probably was dead again. In fact, the only times Tim had ever heard anything at all being referred to as an ‘absolute truck of a beast,’ well, they had all been referencing one certain Jason Peter Todd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaaaaaa sorry for not updating... i thought writing fanfics would be easy... but i also write for like...twenty million different applications as well... so i kinda put this off...but i am gonna finish it. i have chpt 3 done... ive decided to chill and edit it probs... (unlike this chpt which i am posting w/o editing) but anyways y'all im so sorry for not updating but i regret telling people that writing fanfics should be easy bc nO

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading this haha! I'm definitely continuing this, I just don't know when updates will be. I do write a lot, but this is the first time I've posted. Also I'm kinda freewriting this without proofreading (much) so feel free to call out my grammar mistakes or whatever. Also feel free to suggest stuff in the comments too (that you wanna see later in the story). Thanks!!


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